“Get in the car.”

“Why? So you can ruin my date before it even happens?”

He drummed his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel. “Beverly.”

I crossed my arms. “Blake.”

“Get in the car, Beverly.”

I glared at him, putting every ounce of defiance I had into it. “Do I look like I need a ride?”

“Beverly, you can barely sit on that thing.”

I waved him off dismissively. “I can handle it.”

“And the cramps?”

I stiffened.

“You’re pale, you’re sweating, and you’re wearing that face,” he said, gesturing in my direction. “The one you make when you’re in pain but trying to act like you’re not.”

I refused to react. I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was right. Because I was in pain. My cramps were getting worse, and my legs burned from the short distance I had pedaled.

But this wasn’t about comfort; this was about principle.

“I’m meeting Reese,” I reminded him, emphasizing the name. “You don’t get to play the overprotective big brother now.”

His jaw ticked. “Get in the car, Beverly.”

“I am not arguing with you about this, Blake,” I gritted out. “Move the damn car.”

“No.”

“Blake—”

“Get in the car.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re still on that bike.”

“I like my bike.”

“You hate your bike.”

I clenched my jaw.

He wasn’t wrong.

And that pissed me off even more.

“Beverly, just—” He sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “Just get in the car.”

“Why do you care?”

“You know why,” he replied with a low exhale. “And because you look like you’re about to pass out. Because if you were mine, I’d pick you up.”

I hated him.

I hated him, I hated him, I hated him.

I hated him more than I ever thought possible.

Because even now, after everything, Blake could still do things like this. He could still be like this—infuriatingly kind, annoyingly protective, and impossible to ignore. He could still get under my skin, mess with my head, and twist my heart with every word he spoke. He could still make me feel things I didn’t want to feel.

I swallowed, forcing my expression to stay flat. “Yeah?” I said. “Well, I’m not yours.”

Blake’s grip on the wheel tightened. Then, without another word, he reached across the seat, pushed open the passenger door, and looked at me. “Beverly, for God’s sake.” His voice softened. “Get in the car.”

I stared at the open door.

I should have just kept going. I should have pedaled past him, flipped him off on my way down the street, and met Reese like a normal girl going on a normal date. But I was in pain, and my stomach was cramping so hard it felt like a punishment. And the thought of biking all the way into the city when there was air-conditioning right there?